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<title>i said, “well, fuck it! i’m trying.” by mafuyuukis (aslanjades)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23915602">i said, “well, fuck it! i’m trying.”</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/aslanjades/pseuds/mafuyuukis'>mafuyuukis (aslanjades)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Given (Anime), Given (Manga)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Feels, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Oneshot, based on a verse in solo by samsa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:08:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,788</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23915602</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/aslanjades/pseuds/mafuyuukis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Uenoyama has hit a speed bump in his relationship. </p><p>Except you can get over speed bumps. And for whatever reason, Uenoyama feels that he’s not getting over this.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Satou Mafuyu/Uenoyama Ritsuka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>91</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i said, “well, fuck it! i’m trying.”</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>wrote most of this at 2am. look up the lyrics to the second verse of solo by samsa to see where the inspiration of this was pulled from!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>AS UENOYAMA SITS BACKSTAGE, slowly coming down from the high induced by his brief but exhilarating time playing for a crowd less than an hour ago, he wonders where he went wrong.</p><p>Granted, this isn’t a new thought. He doesn’t exactly have the best track record when it comes to making the right decisions and saying the right things, but most of those slips of tongues and rash actions were byproducts of his sexually confused and selfish teenaged headspace. Two years and double the wisdom and experience later, he’s not supposed to feel this way anymore. That’s what growing and all the pains that come with it are for, right?</p><p>Still, as he sits on a leather sofa while roadies cart his and the other members’ instruments away, elbow resting against the armrest and chin in his hand, he thinks about when he first fell in love with Mafuyu. He considers all of the mistakes he made—and there were plenty. Then he makes a list of what he’s done recently. He compares:</p><p>a.) When he was sixteen, he lashed out at Mafuyu before a show—their first show, to be specific—for not completing the lyrics he was tasked with writing in time. It all worked out fine in the end, resulting in them playing what’s still their biggest song in a shocking performance that followed a string breaking and a subsequent heart-to-heart, but it shouldn’t have happened. He knew that. He <i>knows</i> that.</p><p>Now, they’ve established a pre-show ritual of sorts. It’s all encouragement (<i>I’m proud of you, okay? You can do it. Show them what you’re made of.</i>) and smiles and hugs shared between only them. Post-show rituals are similar, with a quick but loving kiss right when they step out of the audience’s line of sight. A kiss that says <i>you did well.</i> A kiss that says <i>I’m so glad I get to do this with you.</i> It’s all love, and it’s all light, even if Mafuyu’s heart hasn’t been in it recently.</p><p>b.) When he was sixteen, he lashed out at Mafuyu again for not texting him back while at Kaji’s place. It was a dick move, and he paid the price by seeing that look on his face, the one where his eyes go wide and his speech falters and his lip trembles an almost unnoticeable amount that’s nothing short of lethal when recognized. He paid the price by hearing Mafuyu admit that he had fears of them ending up like the other failed relationships his tired eyes had seen and his worn-out heart had endured.</p><p>But Uenoyama hasn’t questioned his whereabouts recently—they’re on tour together anyway, so most of their time is spent by each other’s side—nor has he felt the need to. He’s Mafuyu’s boyfriend, not a goddamn GPS.</p><p>He’s fucked up, yeah. More than once. But every time and in every possible way he could think of, he’s corrected it. He wants them to work out, so he learns, he adjusts, and he grows. For them.</p><p>
  <i>He wonders where he went wrong.</i>
</p><p>Leather cold against his skin and his heart both palpitating and aching at once, he turns towards the opposite side of the couch. There, Mafuyu sits with his hands clasped in his lap and his eyes staring straight ahead as his thumbs twiddle with each other. If anyone who doesn’t know any better walks past, they’ll think they‘re just two band members. That’s it. Maybe even ones that don’t quite get along. And that would have been fine two years ago when Uenoyama was a closet case, but now he doesn’t care who knows that they’re in love.</p><p>If only Mafuyu would fucking look at him.</p><p>Uenoyama doesn’t regret debuting. He never has, not even on nights where the demand gets too much and everything gets too tiring. He loves music, and he loves the band. He doesn’t regret debuting with Mafuyu, either. He just . . . wishes things were different, that’s all. </p><p>When they accepted the deal, everything went on a steep incline, and so abruptly, it all came crashing down. So abruptly, it was like their relationship was <i>regressing</i> rather than progressing, and the worst part is that he can’t even place why, not even now. And it’s frustrating because he doesn’t want to push Mafuyu—he knows better than to do that—but he also wants answers.</p><p>So he pries. Gently.</p><p>“Hey.”</p><p>At the sound of Uenoyama’s voice, Mafuyu blinks, eyebrows knitting together as though he’s confused or lost or both, and turns his head towards him achingly slowly. Then he plasters this small smile that’s so obviously fake onto his face, one that falls within moments of appearing.</p><p>“Hi,” he responds, his soft voice thinner than usual. Uenoyama can attribute it to vocal fatigue after performing, but Mafuyu has been getting better with that with training and practice. If he’s tired, it’s from something else. <i>Of</i> something else. </p><p>
  <i>Fuck.</i>
</p><p>“What’s wrong?”</p><p>Uenoyama doesn’t care to beat around the bush anymore. He’s been beating around the bush for the past week that Mafuyu’s behavior has been especially concerning. If he’s being honest, he’s starting to think he’s the tired one. He’s tried kissing Mafuyu longer, holding him tighter, speaking to him more delicately, but nothing seems to be working. </p><p>No, Uenoyama isn’t just tired. He’s afraid. Afraid that this is permanent. Afraid that he misstepped somewhere.</p><p>Afraid that this is what someone falling out of love looks like.</p><p>Uenoyama wonders if Mafuyu knows the fear exists, If he does, he doesn’t do much to dispel it. He shakes his head, but the way he whispers “nothing” so quietly that it’s barely audible and turns his attention away again proves that he’s lying.</p><p>“Bullshit.” Uenoyama moves to close the distance between them, but stops before he’s too close. He doesn’t know if too close is allowed right now. Still, he takes Mafuyu’s hand, the one he can reach, and pleads, “Talk to me.”</p><p>It’s met with a shake of the head vigorous enough to shift ginger locks out of place. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”</p><p>“Is it something I did?” Uenoyama blurts, “You know it’s okay if you tell me. It’s actually better that way—”</p><p>“No,” Mafuyu answers, quick and insistent. “You didn’t do anything.”</p><p>“So what is it? Are you stressed? I know we have a show tomorrow, but after that we can do something if it makes you feel better. Come on.”</p><p>At this, Mafuyu sighs. </p><p>
  <i>Sighs.</i>
</p><p>Everything is screaming for Uenoyama to leave it there—every bone, his wild heart, the blood coursing through his veins—because that exhale just confirms that Mafuyu is nearing a limit he hasn’t hit in months, a limit that can be easily avoided with patience. If there were a guidebook to Mafuyu, patience would be written on the first page, circled, underlined, and highlighted.</p><p>But Uenoyama simply isn’t feeling very patient anymore. And he knows it goes against his learning and adjusting and growing mantra, but can only take so much. So he digs their grave a little deeper. “Mafuyu. I need you to talk to me. I mean, it’s been a week. How long are you going to do this? And no, it’s not nothing because—ugh—I just—fuck. I love you and I want you to snap out of whatever this is, but I don’t know what to do anymore. And I won’t know if you don’t talk to me.”</p><p>Mafuyu doesn’t answer. Nor does he budge. In fact, Uenoyama doesn’t even know if the words that are coming out of his mouth are being processed. So even though he shouldn’t, even though he’s done enough damage, he keeps going. </p><p>“Look, I’m sorry that I don’t understand. And I’m sorry that I won’t understand unless you tell me. We have to talk, Mafuyu. That’s the only way we work. I don’t just get it, okay? I’m not him. But—well, fuck it. I’m trying. I’m trying, but that doesn’t work unless you do, too—”</p><p>“Let go of me,” Mafuyu demands, voice thinner, weaker than earlier. Uenoyama feels his heart plummet, creating a pit in his stomach.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Let go. Please.” Mafuyu tugs at his hand a little bit, trying to simultaneously communicate his request non-verbally. Uenoyama just blinks, trying to digest it, then promptly disentangles his fingers from his counterpart’s. With that, Mafuyu stands and, without looking back, walks away. Halfway down the corridor, he begins to pick up speed until, eventually, he’s near racing out of the theater’s door, which shuts behind him. The whole time, Uenoyama stays perfectly still, fingers remaining spread apart like Mafuyu’s are still between them.</p><p>Just as a swimming feeling forms in his head (or is it drowning?), he feels something vibrate and looks down, seeing Mafuyu’s illuminated phone. The photo of his white pomeranian adorning the lockscreen is covered with two notifications: one, a text message containing a greeting from Hiiragi. The other, a calendar notification with <i>upcoming event</i>in bold letters, and beneath it, <i>Yuki’s birthday.</i></p><p>He feels himself sink.</p><p>As Uenoyama sits backstage, he wonders where he went wrong. Before this, of course, because this situation has wrong written all over it. If there were a guidebook to Mafuyu, patience would be written on the first page, circled, underlined, and highlighted. And on the next, in unmissable red letters, <i>DON’T SPEAK ABOUT YUKI UNLESS SPOKEN TO ABOUT YUKI.</i></p><p>Maybe Mafuyu was right, Uenoyama thinks. Maybe he didn’t do anything at all. Maybe he just walked in on a story with an infinite epilogue, a story that could never turn in his favor, and is still competing with a character who was written out years ago. And he knows that Mafuyu can love them both—that’s how these stories go—but he’s questioning if that’s happening. </p><p>Maybe Mafuyu just isn’t ready to let him go.</p><p>When Uenoyama looks up, Mafuyu is standing there. He blinks a few times to make sure it’s really him, and it is, because the figure doesn’t disappear no matter how many times he opens and shuts his eyes.</p><p>Mafuyu looks at his phone. Uenoyama hands it over without a word—he’s said enough. And when Mafuyu takes it, he gazes at him with that broken look, the one with the wide eyes and trembling lip, and whispers, “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Uenoyama doesn’t exactly know what Mafuyu is apologizing for, but he nods nonetheless. “Me too.”</p><p>As if once wasn’t enough, Mafuyu walks away a second time, fingers tapping and swiping at his phone’s screen before he presses it to his ear. </p><p>Uenoyama doesn’t know if what he hears next is Mafuyu or his own mind speaking.</p><p>
  <i>I think I made a mistake.</i>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>come hang with me on <a href="https://mobile.twitter.com/mafuyuukis">twitter</a> &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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